Sand In My Shoes
by sono spiacente
Summary: Axel/Roxas ჯ I've still got sand in my shoes, and I can't shake the thought of you. AU.


**Author's Note:** Bah humbug. I don't own them.

* * *

Axel is ten when his family goes to Twilight Beach for the first time. They stay in a little rickety beach house on the edge of the town that goes with the beach— it's named Twilight Town, after the beach, because these are people who belong to the sea, not the other way around.

Their house is old, older than Axel's parents even (or so it seems to his ten-year-old self), all dark wood and dry planks. It's not the kitschy crap that most resort towns have, probably because Twilight Town isn't a resort town; it's real, right down to the wraparound porch and the well-used, charred fireplace that decorates the living room. Axel's parents develop a habit of lighting fires each night, because it might be mid-summer but the salt wind is cool, and it's not hard to imagine some family, a long time ago, sitting around this same fireplace and laughing with each other.

At ten, Axel hates it. He hates the sand that gets in his shoes and gives him blisters— he hates the salt air and the way it sticks to his skin, leaving him coated— and he hates the little blond baby (five years old, but who's counting) that belongs to the people who live next door. Roxas is annoying. He's always dripping sand and water all over their house, making Axel's socks wet later when he steps in the puddles. He's always laughing at something or another, his stupid laugh infectious when all Axel wants to do is wallow.

Axel hates it _all_.

His family comes back the next year, though. The next year, Axel is eleven and Roxas is six, and Axel still thinks he's annoying. He's still obnoxiously tan, and he still drips saltwater and sand on the floors in the house that Axel's parents rent. He still laughs too much, but it's a little less grating, now that Axel can sort of begin to appreciate the sunset over the ocean and the taste of salt on his lips.

And they keep coming. They come when Axel's twelve and Roxas is seven; when Axel is thirteen and Roxas is eight— every year, they rent the same rickety beach shack and stay for two weeks, and every year, something changes. Axel begins to appreciate the smell of salt on the air, the moist heaviness of the air, the creak of the old wood and the crash of waves on the shore. He even begins to appreciate Roxas, who stops being so annoying (though he's still a _little_ irritating) and starts being Axel's friend. Sure, it's a little weird to have a friend who's five years younger, but Axel doesn't mind; Roxas is a pretty cool kid, after all.

***

The year that Axel is eighteen and Roxas is thirteen, Axel's parents tell him that they won't be coming back, not for a very long time. The news isn't exactly a surprise— after all, Axel _does_ have to go to college, has been accepted to HBU and everything— but it still feels a little like being punched in the stomach.

When Roxas finds him, Axel is sitting on a driftwood log on the beach, staring out at the fading remnants of sunset over the ocean. "What's wrong?"Roxas asks, before he even sits down, because he's always been a little eerily perceptive like that.

"Nothing."Axel shrugs. "My parents told me we're not coming back here."

"That sucks."

"Yeah."

They sit in silence for a while, letting the news absorb into their skin. "But we'll probably see each other sometime,"Roxas finally says, digging his bare toes into the sand. "This place doesn't really let you go."

"You've tried?"

Roxas shoots a glance at him and smiles crookedly. "No,"he says. "But I know some people who have."

There's not really a whole lot to say to that, so Axel just slings an arm around Roxas' shoulders and gives him a brief noogie. "You're a good kid,"he says quietly, the words coming out heavier than he meant for them to. "For a saltwater-dripping annoying beach bum kid."

Roxas laughs and punches Axel's side. "You're all right, too, for an irritating city kid,"he says, and they stay like that for a second, because tomorrow Axel is leaving and this is probably the last time he'll see Roxas like this.

"Good knowing you,"Axel says, finally.

"You'll be back,"Roxas replies, and smiles like he knows something.

***

Axel doesn't go back, though.

Not during his first year of college— his parents can't afford it, and he's too busy juggling two summer jobs to make any real effort. His second year, he gets a paid internship at a local research facility, and that takes up his entire summer. His third year he's working toward his major; business management isn't _at all_ interesting to him, but his father wants it. Axel's dad is .. well, forceful, and when he said his son was going to take over the family business, nobody argued— least of all Axel, though he saved a few choice words for Demyx later.

After Axel graduates with a degree in entrepreneurship, he debates going back to Twilight Beach and the quirky little town— and Roxas— just for two weeks, but Demyx plans a road trip for him and Axel and some friends, and before Axel knows it, the summer is gone.

***

"I need these filed by the end of the day,"Marluxia says, setting a stack of folders on top of Axel's desk. The smirk on his face is smug, and once again, Axel feels the near-overwhelming urge to punch the asshole in the face. "If they're not done, you don't go home."

"Yes, sir,"Axel grits out, sure that his face is giving him away.

Marluxia just chuckles and backs out of the room, and Axel drops his forehead on top of the stack, cursing his life, his job, his supervisor, his father, and the entire world. It's a routine that happens pretty often, actually.

Not that he can do anything about it. Axel is his father's son, and his father put him through college, which means that Axel owes him at least a couple of years of working this shitty paper-pushing dead-end office job before he can break the news that no, he won't be taking over Cavanaugh & Co., and that he'd rather eat his own liver than spend another day _filing_ shit for Marluxia.

Bitter? Nah.

As he waits for the filing software to load, Axel can't help but entertain a certain nostalgia about his life. If you'd told him at age fourteen that he'd end up where he is, wearing a tie and stuck in a cubicle working for Marluxia (also known as "that asshole"), he probably would have punched you in the face. At fourteen, he was happy. At fourteen, the most important thing to him was the family's next trip to the beach.

Twilight Beach. Axel can see it clearly in his mind— it's a visual he calls up frequently, usually when being either criticized by a supervisor or forced to file meaningless folders into the new digital archiving system. He can see the rickety beach shack— is it even still standing?— and the shoreline beyond it, the driftwood spotting the beach, and Roxas, the wind in his hair as he grins widely.

Four and a half years. That's how long it's been since he's been there, since he's taken that two-week break to salt-sweet Eden.

As the first sheaf of documents starts to run through his scanner, Axel calls his bank account up onto the screen, checking his balance. Not nearly enough for a plane ticket and the cost of renting a house— but why is he surprised? It's not like he could really go. There's too much riding on his shoulders.

***

"So did you hear about the pay cuts?"

Axel rolls his eyes and turns his chair to face Larxene, who's leaning against the front wall of his cubicle and snapping her gum viciously. "No, and I'm sure you're about to enlighten me,"he says, rubbing his eyes.

"Administrative department's taking the hit."Larxene grins, wide and cruel. "That means your salary's getting slashed, little man."

"Fuck,"Axel mumbles, dropping his head into his hands for a second. "Well, that sucks some major—"

"Doesn't it just?"

After a second, Axel raises his head. "Wait a second,"he says. "You're on the administrative team, too. What the hell're you so excited about?"

"I _was_ on the administrative team,"Larxene corrects. "I got promoted this morning. Moving to the development team tomorrow. And guess what? That promotion comes with a _raise_."

"You,"says Axel, "are an incorrigible bitch."

"And you,"replies Larxene, "love it."She snaps her gum again and walks away, leaving Axel to wallow in the pit of his own misery for a while.

It's not that money really means that much to him. It doesn't, never has, probably never will. What matters to him is that he's trying to _save_, trying to earn enough to fill his bank account out enough that he can take that trip back to Twilight Beach.

And now, it seems like all of the forces in the natural universe are conspiring for him not to go.

When Axel gets off work, he doesn't go straight home. Instead, he stops by a bar where some of his college friends sometimes hang out, in hopes of finding someone to spill his sorrows to. It's raining, and the bar isn't as crowded as it normally is— all the better for Axel to spot familiar faces in the throng.

As usual, Demyx is playing his Tuesday night set, and when Axel glances at his watch, he figures that the set should be over in a minute. He orders two drinks— Jack and coke for himself, a Lemon Drop for Demyx— and waits by the bar until Demyx glances up and catches his eye, shooting him a grin over the bar's other patrons.

After he's done, Demyx slides through the crowd and takes the barstool next to Axel's. "Thanks,"he says, taking a gulp of his drink. "You okay?"

Axel raises an eyebrow. "Do I look not okay?"

"You look like shit."Demyx had never been one to mince words. "Still stuck at that job?"

"Did you expect anything different?"Axel palms his glass back and forth between his hands, staring at the shiny wood of the bartop. "I'm gonna become a yuppie, Dem. I'm gonna end up pushing fucking papers for the rest of my life."

"You won't,"Demyx says. "How's the saving coming?"

"Fine, until my pay got slashed this morning."That knowledge still stings, like a papercut that would heal if he could stop picking at it. "Administrative pay cuts."

"That sucks."Of all of the people Axel knows, Demyx is the only one who has some kind of grasp on how much it meant to Axel, to get back to that town. "Well, if you need any help…"

"I'm not taking your money, Demyx."

"All right, all right."

They sit in silence for a long moment. When their drinks are empty, Axel slaps a ten on the bar and pats Demyx's shoulder. "I'm going to go home and sleep forever,"he says, offering a mostly-empty smile. "See you on the flip side."

"It'll work out,"Demyx replies. "Promise."

"Goodnight, Dem."

***

Axel's flat is right next to a major road, and the rush of cars never stops during the night. He used to think that the sound of tires on concrete sounded something like the rush of waves on a shore, but as he lays there, his head pillowed in his hands, he suddenly understands that the sounds are nothing alike. The cars are angry, hurried, brisk urban things designed not to have to bother; the waves are gentle, organic, soothing, and for a second Axel's chest hurts with how strongly he wants to be back there.

It's just—he can't pretend he's happy here anymore. He needs a break. Five years in the city is too long.

***

The second that Axel's account shows he has enough money to go to Twilight Beach, he calls his father.

"Can I take two weeks of vacation?"he asks, keeping his voice down in case Marluxia is lurking somewhere outside his cubicle. "I want to explore how businesses are operated outside of an urban setting. I think it'll help me broaden my horizons."

The spiel is perfect. Axel knows— he's been practicing for months. His father is going to hear 'business' and 'broadening horizons' and be sold on the whole idea, and once he has the company president's stamp of approval, it's not as though Marluxia can turn down his request for vacation.

True to Axel's predictions, his father agrees, and less than five minutes later he's standing at Marluxia's desk with a vacation request sheet and a grin on his face. "My dad said it's fine,"he says, handing the sheet over, and from the expression that crosses Marluxia's features, he knows exactly what Axel's playing at.

"Fine,"Marluxia snaps, stamping the paper and signing away. Somewhere inside Axel's chest, something snaps, and he laughs, practically ecstatic at the idea that he'll be _leaving_ on Monday and staying away for two weeks.

***

When the plane touches down in the next town over, Axel can't stop grinning. Already he feels lighter, and the air is warmer and the sound of cars rushing on the freeway doesn't sound nearly so metronomic when he's here. Or— almost here. He picks up his luggage (which contains _no_ ties) and picks up his rental car, and faster than he thought possible Axel is speeding away down the road to the place that's starting to feel more like home than his home does.

Twilight Beach is just like he remembers it— small, rickety, tired, but still somehow warm and welcoming. The ice cream parlor still stands at the main intersection, and Axel feels a smile tug at his lips at the memory of he and Roxas getting sea-salt flavored ice cream there so many years ago. Axel hadn't really been such a fan, but it had been worth it to see the way Roxas' face ended up covered in blue slime.

God. _Roxas._ He's probably around somewhere— Axel can't imagine him anywhere but this town.

What's he going to say? "Hey, kid, remember me?"

Axel's never been big on making game plans, but right about now, he wishes he had.

***

The problem ends up solving itself.

Instead of seeking Roxas out, Axel decides to bring all his crap into the rickety old beach house—the same one his parents used to rent. Halfway through unpacking, a knock sounds on the door, and Axel tosses his underwear on the bed to greet whoever it is.

It's Roxas.

They spend a long second staring at each other. Roxas has grown up, Axel notices— he must be eighteen, now, and he's still short, but he's filled out, looking more like a normal teenage boy than the skinny waif that Axel was sure he'd become. His hair is still untidy, and his skin still looks salty, though, so Axel figures that some things don't change.

"Hey,"he says.

"Holy shit, Axel,"Roxas says, "this is _not_ what I was expecting when my parents said I should go greet our guest."

Axel grins, and after a second, Roxas does too. He steps up and gives Axel a hug— one of those _it's been five fucking years you asshole_ hugs— and then steps past him into the house. "Y'know, nobody else rented this place since your family stopped coming,"Roxas says almost conversationally as he wanders into the living room.

"Yeah?"Axel shuts the front door and leans against frame for the door to the living room. "The house must've been pretty lonely."

Roxas gives him a look. "Yeah, or something,"he says. "Where the hell've you been? Why didn't you come back?"

And just like that, the tiny rush of seeing Roxas again is deflated, popped sharply by the swift needle of Roxas' question. "I don't really want to talk about that,"Axel says, which is true, because the whole reason he _came_ to Twilight Beach was to get away from his father and his father's expectations. "Tell me about you. What are you, a senior now? Graduated?"

"Just graduated,"Roxas says, either taking the bait or smart enough not to keep asking. "I'm going to city college in the next town over for a couple of years, probably."

"Yeah? No big university plans for you?"Hoping to lead by example, Axel heads into the kitchen and grabs a soda out of the fridge— one of several key purchases he made on his way to the house.

Roxas follows and takes a soda of his own. "Maybe eventually,"he says, shrugging and sitting down on one of the kitchen stools. "Right now, it's sort of .. complicated."

"How complicated?"

"Complicated like my dad wants me to work in the restaurant and all I want to do is surf."

That's the sentence that drives it home: Roxas' life is totally foreign to Axel now. Not that he was ever a major part of Roxas' life, or anything, but two-week visits on a yearly basis were almost enough to feel like he had some kind of sway. Now, after five years? Axel's got nothing.

"What kind of restaurant?"Axel asks.

"It's just your usual touristy kitschy bullshit— no offense. You know, hamburgers, hot dogs, fries, shakes. Shave ice during the summer."Roxas shrugs. "He needs someone to take over, but most of the island kids leave for university, and once they figure out how big the world is, they don't come back."

It's an awkward subject, because Axel doesn't have anything to say to it. He can't offer any advice because he doesn't have any; he can't offer any comfort because he's too far removed. Instead, all he can do is change the subject.

"Surfing, huh. How long've you been doing that?"

"Since I was fourteen."Roxas spins around on the stool, and Axel is startled by the strength of the memory that comes to him: Roxas, age seven, drinking grape juice in his kitchen and spinning circles on a stool. A moment of idyll in the thunderstorm of his life. "I just don't want to, you know, abandon my family."

Axel doesn't say anything for a moment. He imagines Roxas on a surfboard, cutting through the crystal-blue waves on Twilight Beach, his body low and a grin on his face. He imagines Roxas, sea-dwelling, beach-bumming Roxas, on a surfboard and wonders how he never saw it before— it's beautiful, it's perfect. He almost can't imagine anything else.

"You're good?"he finally asks, setting his can to the side.

Roxas shrugs, blushes, looks off to the side. "I'm okay."

"Yeah, okay, when did you become modest?"Axel cocks an eyebrow, leans against the counter. "You're gonna show me, right?"

"_What?_ No, I'm not going to show you!"Another habit that time hasn't been able to quell in Roxas: His tendency to get irritated when he's embarrassed. Axel had thought it was annoying before, but now, somehow, it's just endearing. He doesn't say anything, just fixes Roxas with an impassive stare, and then after a moment, Roxas sighs. "Fine. But you're gonna have to be up early."

"I'm used to that. How early is early?"

"Tide comes in at six forty-seven."

"You get up at six forty-seven to go surfing?"

Roxas gives him a look that's about as scathing as anything Axel's ever seen. "_Actually,_"he says, and his tone screams 'no, duh', "I get up at six. I'm _out_ by six forty-seven."

"I admire your dedication."But even as he mocks it, Axel knows he'll be up and out at six-thirty, ready to meet Roxas on the beach and watch. There's something alluring about the image, and if nothing else, he wants to see if the real deal matches up to the movie in his head. "So which beach? This one, or—?"

A shrug. "Normally it's the one a little further south."

There's a brief moment of silence, and Axel considers saying something. He opens his mouth to speak— not even sure what he's going to say, maybe _I missed you_, maybe something else— and Roxas' cell phone rings, a tune that Axel should be able to name but can't.

"Shit, sorry,"Roxas says, pulling the offending electronic out of his pocket. "Hold on a second?"

Axel nods mutely, and Roxas turns away, leaning on the counter and flipping his phone open. "Hey, Hayner. No, I'm not— What? No, I was greeting our renter."He flashes a grin at Axel, who feels a bit more perturbed than he should at the fact that he's been demoted from 'childhood friend' to 'renter' in the space of one sentence. "Sure, where are you guys going? Is Olette coming?— Yeah, sure. I'll meet you at the usual spot, okay?"After what's presumably an agreement from this Hayner character, Roxas hangs up and gives Axel an apologetic look. "That was my friend, he wants to go up to the beach. Sorry to split on you like this…"

"Hey, no big deal,"Axel says, waving a dismissive hand. "I should probably get back to packing, anyway."

"Yeah."Roxas shuffles, looks at the floor. "Hey, I told you so."

Axel blinks once, twice, and then, in a rush, remembers: He and Roxas sitting down by the beach, and Roxas' promise that he'd be back. He laughs and reaches out to ruffle Roxas' hair, the grin refusing to fade even as the laughter does. "I guess you did,"he agrees, and watches as Roxas lets himself out of the house.

***

Later, after all of his clothes are put away and his food unpacked, Axel stands out on the balcony and allows himself one cigarette— a vice he abandoned months ago, but still sometimes falls back on when the stress gets to him. It's funny; he came to Twilight Town to get rid of stress, but stress found him here anyway, in the form of Roxas.

It'd be easier if Axel was naïve. He's not. He's an avid and open appreciator of the human form, and Roxas grew up beautiful— Axel knows that the tension in the base of his skull and lower, in the pit of his stomach, has nothing to do with nostalgia and everything to do with lust. Reminding himself that Roxas is only eighteen, barely graduated, does nothing to quell the sensation, so Axel just drags angrily on his cigarette and hates himself a little.

***

At six-thirty in the morning, Axel discovers, the beach is still cold, and the first rays of sunlight are barely starting to peek over the horizon. There's an indistinct shape halfway down the beach, which, as Axel draws closer, reveals itself to be Roxas, toes curled in the sand, eyes closed and surfboard beside him. Axel halfway doesn't want to say anything, just to drink in the image for a few moments more, but instead he clears his throat and slumps down on the sand.

"Good morning, sunshine,"he says, his voice still harsh with sleep.

"Hey."Roxas cracks open one eye and glances over, then closes it again. "Shhh."

"What—"

"_Shhh._"

So Axel shuts up, closing his eyes and leaning back on his hands. Here, now, he can hear the rush of waves on the shore, so close that he can almost taste it— he can hear the screams of seagulls above them, the soft scuttling of early-morning crabs rushing into their holes. On his lips, the sting of saltwater, crusting his skin and hair, and when he opens his eyes it's just sunrise. Next to him, Roxas is a vision painted in sunrise-dim blue and pink and yellow, his hair shifting in the light breeze and his eyes closed against the morning light.

After a moment, Roxas takes a deep breath and opens his eyes. "Okay,"he says.

"Okay?"

"Okay."Roxas stands up and sheds his shirt, then grabs his board and, without a backward glance, runs for the water. Axel spends a moment appreciating the slide of Roxas' muscles beneath his skin— when did the little beach baby get so strong?— before he shakes his head and settles back to appreciate the surfing instead.

As it turns out, Roxas is not 'okay' at surfing. He's not even good at surfing— he's fucking fantastic. Axel has no idea how surfing even works and he can see that, in the angle of Roxas' body when he takes a wave, in the sharp twist of his hips when he changes direction. He's a vision painted out of sea spray and reflected sunlight, all golden and wild, and Axel thinks he might be a little in love.

When Roxas comes out of the water, he looks exhausted but deliriously happy. Axel wonders how his father could ever deny him this.

"Nice,"he says, when Roxas drops to the sand next to him.

"It was okay,"Roxas demurs, but his face is gleeful, and any idiot would be able to read that expression for what it is. "I lost my balance a couple of times, that doesn't usually happen."

"I wouldn't have noticed."

Roxas looks at him with a curious expression, like some combination of intent and questioning and warmth and hesitance, and Axel wonders what the fuck _that's_ supposed to mean. And then the moment passes; gone, in a second, and Roxas' face is back to its usual carefree half-smile. "Well, thanks,"he says, turning back to face the sea.

"Anytime,"Axel says, stunned.

***

There was, perhaps, some part of Axel that expected a little more of Roxas' attention considering that they haven't seen each other in more than five years. This is not the case— Roxas spends a pretty good-sized chunk of time with Axel, sure, but no more than he spends with his other friends and _certainly_ no more than he spends surfing.

Roxas' friends from Twilight Town are named Hayner, Pence, and Olette. Olette is a nice girl, sweet without being saccharine; if Roxas were to date her, Axel would probably approve. Pence is a little on the tubby side (not that Axel will say anything about it— more out of a desire to keep his balls where they are than any real sense of kindness or chivalry), but he's good-natured, and he and Axel get along all right.

Hayner is annoying, though. He grates on all of Axel's still-raw nerves, is too loud and callous and unapologetic (Axel flashes back to senior-year Freudian psychology: _Things that annoy you in others are things that annoy you about yourself._ Freud could suck his dick as far as Axel was concerned), which is why, when Roxas asks Axel if he wants to come to a party Hayner's throwing— four nights before Axel leaves— Axel doesn't exactly jump at the chance.

"A twenty-three-year-old at a party of eighteen-year-olds,"Axel muses, leaning over the back of his couch to look at Roxas, who's sprawled out across it. "It's a pedophile label waiting to happen."

Roxas rolls his eyes. "Okay, first, eighteen is the age of consent, so it's not exactly like you'd be a pedophile. Second, it's not like anyone's going to ask your age. Third, it'll be fun! Hayner has pretty notoriously great parties."

Axel's eyebrow goes up. "Fun. And what exactly qualifies as 'fun' for you?"

"Usually it's just a bunch of us on the beach drinking and goofing off."The expression on Roxas' face reveals that he knows this sounds lame even as the words are coming out of his mouth. "It's just hanging out. Come on, it's not that bad."

"So it's basically an excuse to get drunk and hook up?"

Roxas flushes pink, but shrugs what's more or less a confirmation.

"Okay."Axel shrugs back. "Sure, why not."

"Oh, come _on_,"Roxas begins, then catches himself and stares up at Axel in mild shock. "Wait, did you just agree?"

"What, do you want me to change my mind or something?"Honestly, Axel's as surprised by his capitulation as Roxas seems to be. Why the fuck would he agree to hanging out with a bunch of teenagers just out of high school, drinking cheap beer on a beach? It's not exactly his idea of a good time— but then Roxas grins and sits up, and Axel remembers.

_Oh._

"Great! I'll see you at seven then, okay? The same beach where we went surfing."

"_We_ didn't go surfing,"Axel says, by which he means _I'll be there._ And judging by Roxas' resulting laugh, his message came across loud and clear.

***

Contrary to what seems to be the popular opinion, Hayner is not actually less annoying when he's drunk. If anything, he's equally annoying, just in less of a loud-and-grating way and more of a hump-anything-with-legs way. Hayner is a horny drunk, which can't be fun for those on the receiving end of his attentions but is fucking _hilarious_ to Axel from where he sits on a log on the opposite side of the bonfire.

"I'm glad you're finally having fun,"says a quiet female voice, and when Axel looks over its Naminé, a pretty blonde who was introduced to Axel as _Roxas' ex— um, friend from school._

Axel toasts her. "Was I not having fun before?"

Naminé smiles softly and shrugs. "It didn't look like you were."

This is probably closer to the truth than Axel had been willing to admit. It's sort of funny to watch Hayner's drunken escapades, true, but all of this isn't exactly filling Axel with camaraderie and joy. It's _awkward_— Axel knows maybe four of the people here, and Roxas isn't exactly scrambling for the chance to sit by him.

Not that Axel needs Roxas' attention to survive, or anything. He just figures, since Roxas invited him…

_Oh well._ It's not like they're doing anything here that Axel can't do on his own, back at the rickety beach house (which isn't to say that would be a good idea, because Axel's had several already and he's more than a little drunk). He tosses his plastic cup in the fire (environmentalists be damned) and heads down to the shore, planning to walk back up the beach to find his house. After all, the house is on the shore.

It's not that far, either, and Axel is almost there when he hears his name ring out behind him. "Hey, Axel!"Roxas shouts, jogging up behind him (or attempting to jog— he's weaving a little bit, and Axel suspects that Roxas' spatial comprehension abilities might be just as impaired as his own). "Shit, I've been yelling your name forever. You're leaving?"

Axel shrugs. "Thinking about it, yeah."

"How come?"

This is so not a conversation Axel wants to have right now. Morose drunkenness is so unsexy. "They're your friends,"he says, by way of explanation. "Not mine."

Maybe it's the alcohol, but Roxas looks up at him with something like softness and steps closer, one hand coming to rest just above Axel's elbow. "But you're _my_ friend,"he says, his expression so openly (drunkenly) honest, and Axel feels something hot and painful stab him through the heart.

"Nah,"he says, shrugging. "I'm a relic. You know? Just trying to resurrect the past."Because I don't like the present.

Roxas bites his lip, and for a second Axel wants to bite it for him. "Then—"he says, sounding a bit like he can't decide whether to be hurt, offended, both, or neither. "Axel, why did you come back?"

_Oh, hell,_ Axel thinks, and says "For you."

Which is so entirely not what he meant to say. He meant to say something about getting out of the city, missing the beach, wanting to learn to surf, anything, any _fucking_ thing to keep him from telling the truth— but the truth is exactly what comes out anyway, and Roxas' eyes go wide.

"Oh,"he says, and he sounds a little breathless.

"Yeah,"Axel says, which is about as eloquent as he's capable of being at the moment. "You should get back to your friends."

"No,"Roxas says, his hand not moving from its spot on Axel's bicep. "No, I don't think so."

When Roxas pulls him down and kisses him, Axel is more than a little surprised. He's not, however, so surprised that he can't pull Roxas against him and kiss him back, tangle his fingers in Roxas' hair and curl them against his jaw. Roxas makes a soft noise and Axel pulls back, staring at Roxas through the dimness of nighttime.

"You're drunk,"he says.

"So're you,"Roxas replies, and kisses him again.

Axel wakes up to sunlight streaming gloriously through the blinds above his bed and sending stabbing bolts of pain through his hangover-muddled brain. "Fuck,"he groans, and throws an arm haphazardly over his eyes— it's been a long time since he drank enough to wake up with a headache, and it doesn't feel any better now than it did then.

_What did I even_ do _last night?_ Things come back in flashes: Drinking at Hayner's party, beer on the beach— drunken escapades?— a conversation with Naminé— and Roxas. Kissing Roxas, pulling Roxas against him and kissing him breathless and debauched.

Axel freezes. _Roxas._

Slowly, very slowly (more out of apprehension than headache), Axel turns his head to the side. And, of course, there's Roxas asleep in the other side of Axel's bed, hair mussed and lips parted. _Fuck._ He's beautiful.

"Shit,"Axel whispers, reaching out to almost-but-not-quite touch Roxas' cheek. "Oh, shit."

When he gets out of bed, he's still wearing his boxers, which is a good sign but doesn't necessarily mean anything. Slumping into the chair next to the window, Axel rests his face in one hand and tries very, very hard to remember him and Roxas _not_ having sex last night._God, if you exist, please let us not have had sex last night._

It isn't that he didn't want to have sex with Roxas. He's pretty sure he did. It's just— that would fuck everything up, forever.

The little memory-flashes keep coming. Taking Roxas' hand and pulling him up the beach toward the house— pulling him inside, pressing him against the door and kissing him again. The little sound Roxas had made into the kiss, the way he'd curled his fingers in Axel's hair and tugged. The way they'd collided with almost every flat surface on their way to Axel's room, where they'd—

Axel tugs on his hair. Where they'd what?

He remembers pulling Roxas' shirt off and tossing it somewhere to the side; he can see it now, in a pile by the door. He'd— what had he done, he'd pushed Roxas onto the bed, shucked him out of his pants, and sucked and bitten a trail of red marks down his chest (some of which are still visible right now). They'd kissed for a long time. Axel's shirt and pants had been discarded— Oh, _hell_.

And then it comes: They'd been hard, both of them, and Roxas' fingers had found the waistband of Axel's boxers. And Axel had said no—_No, not like this,_ he'd said, pulling Roxas' hand away. _We're drunk._

And Roxas had laughed, but his expression said he agreed.

And then they'd slept.

There probably aren't words to describe exactly how fucking relieved Axel is about that.

A few minutes of silence, and then a vague, indistinct mumble comes from Axel's bed. Roxas shifts onto his back and rubs his eyes hard for a second, clearly fighting off the same headache that Axel himself was handling. "Mmmrgh,"he says, and sits up in one abrupt motion. Blinks, and focuses on Axel (still in his underwear) in the chair by the window. "Axel .. ? What—?"

But before Axel even has time to get out so much as a "Good morning, guess what, we didn't have sex", Roxas' eyes go shocked-wide and he scrambles out of bed, scooping up his clothes from the floor.

"I'm— I have to— This is— Oh, shit, I've gotta— Bye!"And with that he's gone. The problem is, Axel can't even blame him. He probably would have done the same thing, but with less stammering, because in the grand scheme of things Axel is probably more used to waking up in strange beds than Roxas is.

He pulls on his pants and heads down the stairs simultaneously, trips and nearly falls at the bottom but catches himself in time to see Roxas (now fully-clothed) dart out the door and slam it behind him. Axel yanks the door open again with too much force, probably leaves a dent in the wall next to it, and shouts "Roxas!"

But Roxas is gone.

This is so bad. This is _so_ bad.

***

The problem is, Axel doesn't have Roxas' phone number, and for such a small town it's ridiculously easy to avoid someone you don't want to see. Axel has Roxas' parents' phone number, but he can't exactly call them— _Hey, I think your son thinks we had sex, can I talk to him please?_ On the bright side, none of Roxas' friends have come to kill him yet, and he's not receiving dirty looks when he goes into the town proper, which in Axel's mind means that Roxas hasn't told anyone; on the downside, he can't find Roxas, and not being able to find Roxas means he can't correct the mistaken impression that Roxas has of what happened that night.

And with only three nights left until he leaves, Axel is running out of time.

He spends two days looking for Roxas— two full days and the nights that accompany them, and in the end he doesn't find Roxas, but he does find Naminé, and that might be just as good.

"Naminé!"Axel jogs to catch up with her. She's coming out of the community center with a sketch pad under her arm, and Axel makes a note to ask about that— or not, since it's not like he'll probably ever see her again. "Have you seen Roxas?"

Naminé shakes her head and gives him a curious look. "Hayner says he's sick. He won't come out of his house, not even to surf."

Fuck. "Will you— can you do me a favor? Please?"Axel isn't exactly in the habit of asking for charity from anyone, but this is a special case and he'll have to make an exception. "Go and talk to him. I think I know— why he's acting how he is, and I think it might be my fault."

Naminé opens her mouth, probably to ask, but Axel cuts her off. "It's complicated, okay? Just— go talk to him, and tell him I said that he assumed wrong. What he thinks happened— didn't happen."

By this point, Naminé looks extremely confused, and Axel doesn't blame her. It's a weird fucking situation to be pushed into the middle of, and if someone asked him to do what he's asking Naminé to do, he'd probably tell them to fuck right off. "Okay,"Naminé says, slowly.

"You're an angel. Here—"Axel nabs one of her pens and scrawls his phone number on the back of Naminé's hand. "Let me know what he says, okay?"

And at Naminé's hesitant nod, Axel takes off back down the street before the internal clock of his bravery runs out. Naminé'll either call him or she won't, but either way, Axel hopes he can trust her to convey the information. That, more than anything, is critical— it doesn't matter if Roxas forgives him (or whatever), it doesn't matter if Naminé calls him. What matters is that Roxas _knows._

***

It rains that night, a thunder-and-lightning storm that sends Axel's power flickering and then out. His cell phone, half-charged, serves as a flashlight-and-clock combo, but by one in the morning, two things have happened: Axel's battery has gotten to one bar, and he's resigned himself to the fact that Naminé's not going to call.

At one-thirty, Axel strips off his shirt and changes into sweatpants— even in this storm, it's too warm to sleep fully-clothed, which Axel presumes is a tribute to the semi-tropicality of Twilight Beach. At one-forty-six, he gets into bed, and at two-oh-seven, his cell phone rings.

"Hello?"he says, figuring _telemarketer._

"Is it true?"Roxas asks. There's all sorts of static and background noise going on around him, but Axel can hear his voice clear as anything.

"Roxas?"Axel sits stock-straight up in bed. "Is what true?"

"That we didn't— sleep together."

"Oh. Yeah, that's— we didn't. Sorry I didn't tell you before."

"It's okay,"Roxas says, his voice wavering a little. "So you're not mad at me."

"Why would I be mad at you? Idiot, of course not."

"Good, because it's really cold out here and I'm standing outside your door."

It takes Axel about point-six seconds to react to that information, and another seven seconds to reach the front door. Cell phone forgotten on the bed, and he pulls the door open to reveal Roxas, his hair soaked and sticking to his cheeks and temples, jacket pulled tight around him. "Hi,"he says, biting his lip.

"Hi,"Axel says, and pulls him inside. "You're an idiot. Fucking call me before you come over, that way you don't get stuck in the rain. Get those clothes off."

Roxas obeys, stripping down to just his pants, and Axel leads him to the bathroom and drops a towel on his head. "What the hell, Roxas,"he says, mostly to himself, and sits on the toilet lid while Roxas scrubs furiously at his hair. "You could've just called from your house, you know."

"Mm."Roxas shakes his head, and Axel isn't sure if it's denial or just shaking water out of his hair. "Axel, do you like me?"

If Axel's eyebrows raised any higher, they'd be in his hair. "You're kidding. I brought you into my house in the middle of the night— morning, actually— to get you out of a storm and towel you dry, and you're asking if I like you."

Roxas blushes a very attractive shade of pink. "That's not what I meant,"he mumbles.

"Ah,"says Axel. "You're asking if I _like_ like you."Ignoring how totally and completely fourth-grade that is. This is surreal, it's like a dream— Axel's not sure if he's awake or asleep at this point, that's how unreal this entire situation feels. "I do a lot of dumb shit when I'm drunk, Rox, but I wasn't lying when I said I came back for you."

There's a part of Axel that's very, very certain that this moment is critical. This is a turning point— his words, his _feelings_ (since fucking when did he start having feelings?) are out there, and Roxas' reaction will send the scales tipping.

"Oh,"says Roxas.

"Yeah,"says Axel.

"So are you gonna come over here and kiss me, or not?"says Roxas.

Axel's pretty sure he just hallucinated. "Sorry, I think I just imagined you coming on to me. Can you repeat that?"

"I _said_,"and here Roxas drops the towel on the floor, "are you gonna come over here and kiss me, or not?"He looks a little uncomfortable— probably not used to being so forward— but in his eyes Axel can read surety, and that's all the prompting he needs to do exactly as Roxas requests, cross the room and kiss him breathless.

"You're not drunk, right?"Axel says when they pull apart. "Or high, or anything?"

"Nope. Stone-cold sober. Emphasis on cold."

Axel laughs. "Let's change that,"he says, and pulls Roxas in again.

***

They don't have sex.

This isn't to say that they don't go through a round of extremely enjoyable frottage, because they do, and Axel makes a mental note to throw the sheets in the wash before he leaves in the morning. But that's a thought that doesn't have a place in this bed, not when Roxas is lying on his stomach on the other side and looking at Axel with eyes that have never been so blue.

"You're leaving tomorrow, aren't you?"he asks.

"I'm trying not to think about that,"Axel replies, reaching out to run his fingertips oh-so-lightly down Roxas' spine. He grins at the trail of goosebumps that his touch leaves in its wake. "It's only four."

"When's your plane?"

"Nine-thirty."

"In the morning."

"Yeah. This is kind of a downer, Roxas, not gonna lie."Axel runs his fingers down Roxas' back again, and this time it isn't about the goosebumps as much as it is about the fact that he's allowed to touch this skin, that he _has_ touched this skin, that he pushed Roxas back on the bed and coaxed him to pleasure. And that he got to see Roxas' face when he came (and it was gorgeous).

Roxas shivers. "Sorry."

"Don't worry about it."

Axel shifts and props his head up on one hand, looking down. "Do your friends know?"

"Do my friends know what? About this?"

"No. Which team you bat for."

Roxas shrugs. "I don't bat for any team in particular. I'm a pinch-hitter for both." When Axel's done laughing at him, he continues: "And no, they don't know. I've .. only really dated girls."

"Naminé, right?"

Blush. Clearly, Roxas didn't think Axel knew about that. "Yeah, Naminé."

"Oh." Axel doesn't ask if Roxas is going to tell them. There's no point— Axel's going away tomorrow, and long-distance relationships don't work out. Axel knows. He's tried.

This isn't awkward, this laying and looking. In some ways, Axel wonders if this hasn't been coming since Roxas was thirteen and he was eighteen and they sat on the beach and Axel said he wasn't coming back—if that was when these seeds were sown, not that it matters. "We should get some sleep,"Axel says, when his fingers have finished mapping the terrain of Roxas' spine. "Long day tomorrow."

"Yeah,"Roxas says, rolling over onto his back and staring up at the ceiling. "Travel, and stuff."

"And stuff."There's a long, pregnant pause, and then Axel reaches over to pull Roxas closer, wrapping one arm around his waist and sliding their legs together. It's weird for a moment, like neither of them are really sure where their hands are supposed to go, but then Axel shifts and Roxas moves and it feels a lot like puzzle pieces sliding into place. Meaningful.

***

When Roxas wakes up, Axel is gone. On the pillow next to his head is the key to the beach house and a note:

_You told me so. I'll be back._

Roxas folds the note carefully and spends a long time in bed.

***

Axel gets home and sleeps.

That's all. He collapses on his bed and sleeps for several hours— and it's not only because he's tired, though there's that too. It's defense; he's sleeping to put off unpacking, because unpacking means that he'll have to admit to himself that he's back in his stupid flat next to the highway in a city that he's not sure he can stand anymore.

He's been away for two weeks. Shouldn't something have changed? It feels like it, like everything should be different, but everything just looks exactly how it was when he left it.

So he sleeps, and tries to forget that he's back.

When he wakes up, though, there's still unpacking to be done. It's midday, and Axel heads down to sanitation— unpacks all his clothes, runs a bath, tries to make sense of the mess he made before he left for Twilight Beach. It's like coming back and trying to fit into a life that he doesn't own anymore— like a square peg trying to fit into a circular hole, or something like that.

_Oh_, Axel thinks, halfway through dumping the sand out of one of his shoes on the back patio of his apartment. It's just— he's realized: Everything else hasn't changed. He has.

***

It takes him three months to work up the courage to do anything about it.

That's three months of pay cuts and paper-pushing, of juggling Marluxia's sadistic tendencies and his father's desire for overachievement. But it's not so bad, now— it's not so bad, because now he has a plan, and nothing in the world could keep him from putting that plan into action.

On the first of August, Axel puts a phone call to Roxas' father.

"Hi," he says, once he's got the man on the line. "It's Axel— you know, former regular renter of your beach house?"

"Oh, sure," Roxas' father says. "What can I do for you? Should I put Rox on?"

"Actually, I was calling to talk to you."

"…Oh?"

This is the moment— the turning point, really. Maybe Axel's an idiot for even trying it, for even hoping this'll work, but if he knows anything he knows this: If he didn't try, he would hate himself forever.

"So… here's the thing," Axel says, leaning over his desk and resting his forehead in one hand. "Roxas told me you're looking for someone to help manage your restaurant, maybe take it over in the future."

"Yeah?"

"And I know Roxas doesn't want to do it."

Roxas' father chuckles. "He'd rather be surfing, of course."

"So— how would you feel about giving me a chance to interview for that position?"

There's a long silence on the other end, so long that Axel thinks he's been hung up on— until Roxas' father sighs and asks, "You want to leave the city for a little beach town in the middle of nowhere?"

"That's actually… exactly what I want to do," Axel says, and grins a little at how ridiculous the words sound. "The city's kind of lost its appeal for me. Maybe it's because I've been here forever, but all I keep seeing is people going nowhere fast, talking on cell phones about things that don't matter— and you know, my dad sent me to HBU to get a business admin degree so I could take over his company, but if I'm going to take over anything, I'd rather that it be something that matters."

"And a little beachside restaurant matters to you?"

"Twilight Town matters to me." It's the first time that Axel's admitted it aloud.

"I can't very well give you an interview in person."

"I know. But I can send you transcripts, résumé, whatever you need to make it work. I— really want that job." Axel laughs wryly (who knew he'd be so desperate?) and sighs. "Give me a chance?"

"…All right," Roxas' father says, and Axel almost cries with relief.

***

Two weeks before the end of August, Axel puts in his two weeks' notice.

It takes his father approximately thirteen minutes to get word and call Axel into his office for a healthy lecture. It takes Axel approximately a minute and a half to get tired of it.

"Dad," he says, interrupting his father's tirade about ambitions and goals and familial duty. "Dad, I'm not taking over the company."

"What do you mean?" his father demands, and it's less a question than it is an accusation. "You've been _bred_ for this moment, young man, and I will not—"

"No, Dad, I don't think you're getting this. I'm _not taking over the company_. I hate working here, I hate this company, I hate this city." The thing is, Axel's not angry. He's not even accusatory, which is strange for him— he's reserved, relaxed, his voice totally calm. "I'm moving away."

"To _where?_" his father demands, and Axel knows what's running through his head. Axel's father has the power to blacklist him from working at any corporation in any of the metropolises in the Kingdom, which incorporates not only Hollow Bastion, but Radiant Garden and Atlantis and the Coliseum and anywhere else that Axel could possibly want to go into business administration.

So it's lucky that that's not what he has in mind.

"It doesn't matter," Axel says, shrugging. "I'm not moving to anywhere that you have any sway over. The deal's made, I have a new job lined up. Just rest easy knowing that I'll be doing some management, even if it's not the corporate shit you wanted me to do. Your hard-earned tuition money didn't go to waste."

They stand off for a moment, Axel and his father. And it's funny, because Axel has never seen his dad before, not the way he's seeing him now— tired and old and bitter. For a moment, Axel wonders if his father was forced into this job the same way that Axel almost was.

"Fine," his father says after a moment, and there's an odd combination of irritation and fondness in his voice. "

***

Toward the end of August, Roxas' father sits him down. "I want to talk about the restaurant,"he says, and Roxas feels something cold and unnamed sink heavy in his stomach. _This is it,_ he thinks. This is the point where his father tells him to give up the surfing thing, that he's going to have to dedicate his time to the restaurant now— that the life he wants to live is being derailed for life he _has_ to live.

"Okay,"Roxas says, and he can hear the resignation in his own voice.

His father smiles. "Getting a little ahead of yourself, aren't you? I haven't even told you what I want to talk about yet."

Like Roxas hasn't known since the beginning of his senior year, when his parents warned him about these expectations. "It's okay, Dad. You want me to quit surfing, right? And come to work in the restaurant."

"Roxas…"

"It's fine! I'm pretty much resigned to it at this point."

"Roxas—"

"So don't worry, okay? I'll quit surfing and come to work for you at the beginning of September, like you told me."

"You don't have to quit surfing."

"And everything— Wait, what?"

Either Roxas is hallucinating or— but he can't be hallucinating, because his father is laughing. "You don't have to work at the restaurant,"he repeats, once the laughter has subsided. "I found someone who's willing to take it over. A city kid, but he knows his business."

"Oh."Roxas tries very valiantly to process this. "So I don't have to give up surfing."

"Nope."

"And I don't have to work at the restaurant."

"Nope."

"Holy _shit_,"Roxas says, and his father doesn't even chastise him for his language. "Holy shit, I don't— _awesome!_ God, Dad, you're the best, thank you— You have no idea, thank you so much—"

He doesn't hug his father; they're past the point where they can do that without it being awkward. But he grins, a huge happy grin that makes his face feel like it's going to split in two, and it's funny, because he runs out of the house and the first person he wants to tell isn't Hayner, or Pence, or Olette— it's someone else entirely. And he's not even sure Axel cares about whether or not he runs the restaurant or not, but Roxas just wants him to know.

***

**There's nowhere I'd rather be than on a surfboard out at sea** says: GUESS WHAT GUESS WHAT GUESS WHAT

**I'm taking it slow, feeding my flame, shuffling the cards of your game** says: Holy shit, what?

**There's nowhere I'd rather be than on a surfboard out at sea** says: my dad said i don't have to take over the restaurant!

**I'm taking it slow, feeding my flame, shuffling the cards of your game** says: Yeah? That means more surfing, right?

**There's nowhere I'd rather be than on a surfboard out at sea** says: hell yeah it means more surfing! it's just like, i get to live my own life, instead of his

**I'm taking it slow, feeding my flame, shuffling the cards of your game**

**There's nowhere I'd rather be than on a surfboard out at sea** says: harshing my mellow here axel

**I'm taking it slow, feeding my flame, shuffling the cards of your game** says: Sorry, sorry. That's awesome, you're a fucking fantastic surfer.

**There's nowhere I'd rather be than on a surfboard out at sea** says: when are you coming back?

**I'm taking it slow, feeding my flame, shuffling the cards of your game** says: I don't know yet. I'll get back to you.  
**I'm taking it slow, feeding my flame, shuffling the cards of your game** says: I gotta go, though, my friend has a gig in half an hour and I said I'd be there.

**There's nowhere I'd rather be than on a surfboard out at sea** says: oh, k. have fun. night

**I'm taking it slow, feeding my flame, shuffling the cards of your game** says: Night, shrimp.

_I'm taking it slow, feeding my flame, shuffling the cards of your game_ is offline.

**There's nowhere I'd rather be than on a surfboard out at sea** says: I miss you.

***

This isn't strictly true. Axel is meeting Demyx, true, but it's not for a gig. It's for a ride to the airport.

***

Roxas turns nineteen on the 16th of September, and Axel hasn't been in contact for a week and a half. It's not exactly like they're in the habit of talking every six hours, but there's usually at least one text message exchange every day— and so a week and a half of radio silence is pretty weird. Intellectually, Roxas understands that he is not Axel's keeper, and Axel is free to do whatever (and whomever) he pleases; they're not a couple either, just childhood friends who hooked up once and made promises that might not be kept.

Emotionally, though, Roxas just wants to hear from him.

Which is why he's a little less than impressed when he walks into his house on his nineteenth birthday and finds all of his friends in the living room. "Surprise!" they shout, and Roxas asks, "Isn't nineteen a little old for surprise parties?"

"You're _never_ too old for surprise parties," Hayner disagrees, sticking a fingerful of frosting in Roxas' mouth. Roxas pulls a face, which Hayner ignores in favor of saying, "We went to all the trouble to get your friends here, Roxy, the least you could do is have a little fun."

After a second, Roxas does smile. Glancing around the room, he can see that Hayner _did_ get (almost) all of his friends— Naminé, Olette, and Selphie are clustered on the couch, Tidus and Wakka are engaged in some kind of wrestling match behind the couch. There are kids from school, too, people from Roxas' graduating class that he hadn't had the time (or energy) to keep up with over the summer, and Roxas is so busy laughing at all of it that he almost doesn't register the familiar form lounging in the doorway at the back of the room.

The double-take is almost comical in its magnitude. Roxas' eyes skim right over, and it isn't until he's nearly turned around to head into the kitchen that he turns around, his face an "o" of surprise as his eyes land on Axel.

"Happy birthday, midget," Axel says, a familiar half-smile curving across his face.

"_Axel,_" Roxas says. "You unbelievable asshole. When did you get here? How? _Why?_"

It's weird, having a conversation across a crowded room, but no one even gives them a second glance. "Which one of those should I answer first?" Axel asks, rolling his eyes. "About a week and a half ago, by plane and then by car, because I'm taking over your dad's restaurant."

And Roxas, who had opened his mouth to reply, shut it. And then opens it, and then shuts it again. The shock on his face is priceless— and Axel realizes that Roxas had never asked what he did. He had no idea that Axel was capable of running a business (well, hopefully), and he'd never bothered to ask his dad who was going to take over.

"You're— _what,_" Roxas says, blinking.

"Taking over your dad's restaurant. Well, in theory, in a few years. I gotta learn how to manage a restaurant first, but the plan is that—"

Axel never finishes his sentence, because it takes Roxas about six steps to cross the room, get around the Tidus/Wakka wrestling match, and grab Axel by his hair to kiss him. _So much for his friends not knowing,_ Axel thinks, and slides his arms around Roxas' waist, curving down into the kiss so that Roxas doesn't have to strain so much to reach him (this is one of those times where their height difference is almost laughable).

It takes them a long moment to part, and when they do, all of the eyes in the room are trained on them. There are varying degrees of shock written across each face, starting with Hayner (who looks like he's about to piss himself) and gradually declining to Naminé, who looks like she knew all along.

"What?" Axel says, going on the defensive.

The silence is deafening. Somewhere, someone drops a pin.

"You— But—" Hayner shoots a glance at Naminé, like she might be offended. "That's—"

"Surprise," Roxas says, but doesn't pull away from Axel. It's all out there now, after all.

"You're, like, the last person I would expect to be gay, Rox," Tidus says after a second, which is sort of ironic because he and Wakka are frozen in a semi-questionable wrestling stance on Roxas' living room floor. "It's sorta surprising."

Roxas flushes. "I'm not gay."

"You just—"

"I bat for both teams, okay," Roxas says, and Axel slides an arm around his waist. He remembers this, the awkwardness of telling his friends.

Another long silence. "Oh," says Hayner, and then, "Okay. So who wants cake?"

***

Later that evening, Axel and Roxas sit on the balcony of the beach house (which, per an agreement with Roxas' parents, Axel now rents on a permanent basis) and swing their legs over the edge, eating popsicles that stain their mouths blue. "On the scale of birthdays I've had, this one ranks pretty high," Roxas says, holding his popsicle away from his body so the drips don't get on his clothes.

"Yeah?" Axel licks the remnants of blue liquid off of his fingers and tosses the stick over the edge, earning him a Look from Roxas (who, in true beach bum style, hates littering on the sand).

There's a long moment of comfortable quiet. The sun is nearly dipping below the horizon, and the sun is stained in dark reds and oranges and deep purples— and just then, Axel knows he chose right. "I'm glad I came back," he says, almost absently, and Roxas leans his cheek against one of the balcony's bars to look at him.

"I am too," he agrees.

This is a big thing, this move he's made. But looking at Roxas, bathed in sunset, his hair turned dark gold and red and orange by the light reflecting off the ocean, Axel knows he wouldn't have it any other way. And when Roxas leans over and kisses him, Axel knows that Roxas wouldn't either.

***

_two weeks away feels like the whole world should have changed__  
__but i'm home now, and things still look the same__  
__i think i'll leave it 'til tomorrow to unpack__  
__try to forget for one more night that i'm back in my flat__  
__on the road where the cars never stop going through the night__  
__to a life where i can't watch the sun set__  
__i don't have time, i don't have time_

_i've still got sand in my shoes__  
__and i can't shake the thought of you__  
__i should get on, forget you__  
__but why would i want to?__  
__i know we said goodbye__  
__anything else would have been confused but_

_i want to see you again__  
__yeah i want to see you again_

_tomorrow's back to work and down to sanitation__  
__run a bath and then pick up the mess i made before i left here__  
__try to remind myself that i was happy here__  
__before i knew that i could get on a plane and fly away__  
__from the road where the cars never stop going through the night__  
__to a life where i can watch the the sun set__  
__and take my time, take all my time_

_i've still got sand in my shoes__  
__and i can't shake the thought of you__  
__i should get on, forget you__  
__but why would i want to?__  
__i know we said goodbye__  
__anything else would have been confused but_

_i want to see you again_

— "Sand In My Shoes," Dido


End file.
